


if dreaming was believing (then i believe)

by honeyuta



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 01:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16053083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyuta/pseuds/honeyuta
Summary: It takes two counselling sessions, a whole lot of teasing and a handful of weird dreams for Taeyong to confess to Yuta.





	if dreaming was believing (then i believe)

**Author's Note:**

> hello i am back with another disappointment but this time i spent a month working on this disappointment so please appreciate. also i don't know why everyone sounds british but they do, so...
> 
> anyway, excuse any mistakes and enjoy!
> 
> LEZGETIT

Taeyong’s been seeing them more often – dreams with Yuta in them. Dreams in which he’s holding him close and kissing him softly.

Just today morning, for instance, he woke up sweating and panting and sporting a bad case of bed head. It was when he turned to grab the water bottle he always keeps on his bedside table to relieve his throat of its burning that he caught sight of his alarm clock glaring back at him. It took him a while to process the bright red numbers blinking obnoxiously, for his mind was still quite busy showing him vivid images of his dream, but when the digits did register in his mind, he leaped out of bed (one might have mistaken him for a javelin thrower at that moment) and ran to the bathroom in record speed.

 _‘At this rate,’_ he thinks, while brushing his teeth so fast either the bristles of his toothbrush or his own teeth were sure to fall out, _'_ _I could join the Olympics.’_

Then arises the problem of taking a shower, for you see, Taeyong realizes belatedly that he probably should have switched on the water heater while he was brushing so that he wouldn’t have to freeze to death first thing in the morning. It’s the beginning of October; the warm summer breeze has given way to a slightly chilly one so unless he wants to go to school looking like a popsicle, he should probably avoid showering in cold water. But Taeyong is not Taeyong if he isn’t adamant about taking his morning shower, so holding his breath and bracing himself, he forces himself under the water, ignoring the urge to shriek at the top of his lungs.

After his shower, he stumbles out of the bathroom, looking uncannily similar to a fish out of water, and he grabs his uniform (which, he realizes, while taking he shirt off his head when he finds out he’d got it on inside out, is not nearly as crisply ironed as he’d like for it to be, but he doesn’t have the time and silently agrees to avoid looking at his sorry excuse of a shirt for the rest of the day because he’s sure if he does for a second longer, he’s going to whip out an iron from somewhere and teach Kun who the real magician is here) before hastily pulling it on and casting nervous glances at his reflection in the mirror. After fixing his hair and swinging his bag (which probably doesn’t have all the books he’ll be needing for today’s classes. Well, at least his friendship with Dongyoung will come to use for once in his life) over his shoulder, he flings open the door with so much force he’s surprised it doesn’t fly right off its hinges and quite literally throws himself down the stairs, much to the surprise and horror of his parents and older sister.

“Gee, I don’t recall there being any tornado warnings in the news today. Do you, ma?” she snickers, and Taeyong gives her the dirtiest glare he can manage before grabbing a piece of toast from the pile in the middle of the dining table.

“As much as I’d like to stay and bicker with you, I have places to be,” he says, kissing the top of his mother’s head and side-hugging his dad before hastily slipping into his tattered pair of converse, all while munching on his toast (the jam was really nice. He’d have to tell his mother to buy it again).

“Hey, where’s my kiss?” he hears his sister’s voice from the dining room, and he pokes his head around the corner and flips her off as all loving brothers do to their elder sisters, ignoring the shout of “get back here, Lee Taeyong!” and snickering when he hears the sound of a (rolled up) newspaper coming in contact with something, which, in this case, is his sister's head. “Don’t raise your voice at the dining table, Taeyeon,” he hears his mother say sternly, followed by broken protests of “B–But! He started it!”

These are the last sounds he hears before he shuts the front door behind himself, happily tuning out the muffled shouts still coming from inside as he skips down the steps of their porch and lands on the ground in a way that’d make a ballet dancer green with envy.

It’s only when he reaches the pavement that he recalls the situation he’s in and one look at his watch is all it takes to have him panicking again, and seeing no other option, he breaks into a sprint and ignores the biting wind as he runs for his life.

Being late really was a pain in the arse.

*

Taeyong’s had better days, to say the least.

After the whole fiasco in the morning, he had to endure a whole lot of damage to his hearing when he burst into his first class fifteen minutes late. Next time he’s late, he’ll just skip Byun-ssaem's math class altogether, he’s decided.

Not only that, but he messed up for the second time during third hour, when Jung-ssaem asked for the homework assignment he had given to them _last week,_  (he had emphasized the “last week,” enough for the students to understand the underlying implication of “If your homework isn’t on my table within the next ten seconds your ass is going to be in detention”)  and he very calmly reached into his bag to retrieve said assignment, only to retract his hand not-so-calmly a moment later when he realized that the papers he was in dire need of were  _not_ in his backpack. In fact, they were lying comfortably in a neat pile atop Taeyong’s desk at home – a place where be wished fervently to be instead (he would pick whatever punishment his sister had waiting for him back home over facing Jung-ssaem’s wrath any day).

He scanned the class, panicking when he saw that even Ten had gotten up to submit his homework which is extremely surprising because _Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul_ , of all people, does _not_  do his homework. Well, apparently Taeyong’s got it wrong and he does do his homework every once in a while. Taeyong’s suspicion dies down when he notices the dirty glare Ten shoots at Dongyoung when he’s back in his seat, because _of course_  Kim Dongyoung had played a part in this. And _of course_ Ten would listen to him. Those two are practically dating.

Bracing himself for a second time that day, Taeyong made his way to the teacher’s desk, and after the student who had been submitting her homework had turned away, Taeyong went closer tentatively, trying his best not to wither under his teacher’s questioning gaze.

Wishing fervently that Jung-ssaem remembered the box of chocolates Taeyong had given him before school  ended last year, the brunet started, “I’m deeply sorry, Jung-ssaem, but it seems I’ve forgotten my assignment at my humble abode, and–”

“You know, Taeyong, you should’ve made use of this display of your literary genius in the assignment rather than in making an excuse as to why it isn’t on my desk.”

_'Well. I guess he doesn’t remember the chocolates.’_

“But I’ve done it, I really have! I just…” and Taeyong trailed off, unsure of what to say next.

“Forgot to bring it along after completing it? I believe that, because I trust you, but rules are rules, Taeyong. You’re not in trouble, but if I don’t see you in detention, you will be,” and with a ruffle of the hair, Jung-ssaem ushered a very dejected Taeyong back to his seat and the lesson began.

The rest of the day went comparatively better, except for lunch hour, when Taeyong discovered that he had forgotten to bring lunch in his haste to reach school in the morning. What a wonderful day this was turning out to be.

That wasn’t much of a problem, though, because Yuta’s mom always packs him more food than he can manage, and lunch hour ended with more of Yuta’s fried rice in Taeyong’s stomach than in Yuta’s. Not deliberately, of course; Yuta kept shoving spoonful after spoonful of rice into Taeyong’s mouth, blissfully unaware of the gagging gestures Dongyoung and Ten were making at them behind his back.

Detention was not as bad as Taeyong expected it to be; he completed his Math and English homework in that time, and Taeyong thinks he might start getting into trouble more often if it provides him with time in which he can do his work without any distractions. Well, there were a few – two boys sitting at the back kept throwing paper planes at everyone and two hit Taeyong square in the back of his head, and he gifted them the most malicious glare he could manage (dirtier than the one he shot at his sister in the morning, and that’s saying something). Needless to say, no paper planes came his way for the rest of the hour.

So when Taeyong stepped out of the classroom after bidding goodbye to Jung-ssaem in a very cheery manner, he was in a good mood. Maybe today wasn’t _all_  that bad.

Or so he thought.

The smile fell right off his face when he caught sight of the outside world.

It was raining. _Hard._

And he didn’t have an umbrella.

_'Just great.’_

Taeyong looked around frantically for anyone with an extra umbrella. Sharing one with someone was out of the question, that’s simply preposterous, for Lee Taeyong wouldn’t, in his wildest dreams, tolerate being that close to any human being. Unless, of course, that human being is Nakamoto Yuta.

Taeyong weighed his options, all while worrying his lower lip. He glanced at his watch – he was late; he was supposed to be at the their local café at half past two, but detention had made that half-past three, and if he didn’t make it there within the next fifteen minutes, he wouldn’t be able to coerce Dongyoung into buying him his macaroons, because everyone knows how particular Kim Dongyoung is about punctuality.

_‘To hell with it.’_

And bracing himself for the third (and hopefully last) time that day, Taeyong swung his backpack over his head.

And he ran.

Which leads us to where we are now, with a dripping and _grumpy_  Taeyong, sitting in a chair in the café with his arms folded in front of him and a very distressed Kim Dongyoung fretting over him like a mother hen.

Taeyong hasn’t said anything since the moment he stepped into the threshold a mere five minutes ago (or rather, Dongyoung hadn’t let him); he was tossed into a chair straight away and his vision darkened a second later. Taeyong would’ve liked to ask Dongyoung where exactly he conjured up a towel from, but he decided against it, because when the towel fell off his relatively dry hair and landed on his shoulders, he caught sight of Dongyoung’s disgruntled expression and figured that keeping his mouth shut would be better for everyone.

Ten is there too, of course, because Dongyoung and Ten are like a buy-one-get-one-free package; wherever there is a Kim Dongyoung, a Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul is sure to be within a two-mile radius of that, and vice-versa.

Point is, Ten’s there too, and his snickers are obnoxiously loud; way too loud for Taeyong’s liking. He does _not_  appreciate people laughing at his expense, _thank you very much._

Sensing that his friend is close to snapping at his other friend, Dongyoung smacks Ten upside the head, earning him a very high-pitched whine.

“Be resourceful for once and go ask Jaehyun for an extra shirt. Tell him I’ll buy him a coffee once his shift’s over,” Dongyoung tells him, ignoring the glare he receives in return. Ten complies, nonetheless, and saunters off, because that’s what being in _love_  makes you do, Taeyong supposes.

“Oh, and tell him if he lends a pair of pants too, I’ll get him those brownies he likes as well,” Dongyoung calls after the Thai, who waves around a hand dismissively, before turning back to Taeyong. He’s about to say something, judging by the way he opens his mouth slightly, but Taeyong has something to say too, that something being,

“Where’s Yuta?”  
  
“Well then, hello to you too,” his friend responds pleasantly, to which Taeyong rolls his eyes.

“Where’s Yuta?” he repeats impatiently, and Dongyoung’s the one to roll his eyes this time.

“Gee, that’s a funny way of saying, _thank you, Dongyoung, my saviour, what would I have done without you,_ ” he says in a voice that’s supposed to sound like Taeyong’s (it doesn’t).

“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” the older says petulantly, much to his friend’s dissatisfaction. “Now come on, where’s Yuta?”

Dongyoung’s nose scrunches up in disapproval, and for a moment it looks like he’s about to bother Taeyong some more, but he relents, “He said he’d be late; something about having to make a quick run to the  postman’s to have a package mailed to Momoka before he could come.”

Taeyong hums, and Dongyoung goes on, a teasing glint dancing about in his eyes, “Why, wanna stare at his mouth some more?”

And Taeyong chokes on air.

“I certainly do _not_  do that!” he sputters indignantly, and it’s blatantly obvious that Dongyoung is getting a kick out of how worked up he’s gotten him, if the way he’s cackling almost maniacally is anything to go by.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, hyung,” he says provokingly and Taeyong wants to wipe that annoying smirk right off his annoying face.

“Why, you little–”

Just then, a whirlwind bursts through the doors of the relatively peaceful café, which is now not-so-peaceful, set abuzz by this newcomer.

If Taeyong thought his entry was dramatic, Yuta’s is on an entirely different level.

Taeyong watches amusedly as his (dripping) best friend makes his way over to the couches they’re sitting on, all while muttering, “Hi, hi, sorry about that,” to the customers who are appraising him with something akin to annoyance flashing in their eyes before they go back to their own business. Perhaps they’ve been disturbed by dripping teenage boys bursting through the door one too many times today.

And now Yuta’s standing in front of them, his hair messy and wet, much like the rest of him, and his glasses, speckled with tiny droplets of water, hanging askew on the bridge of his nose. He’s looking at Taeyong’s soaked shirt with wide eyes, as if saying silently, “You too?” and with Taeyong nodding solemnly as an answer.

“Oh great, we’ve got another one,” and Taeyong really wants to punch the living daylights out of Dongyoung for interrupting their little moment.

Yuta glances at him sheepishly, and Dongyoung narrows his eyes at him, before sighing in resignation and reaching into his bag for a towel. _‘So that’s where they’re coming from.’_

Ten comes back just when Dongyoung’s done towelling Yuta’s hair dry and tossing a shirt and a pair of pants in Taeyong’s direction, he announces, “Jaehyun says that’s the only pair he has and that if Yuta hyung comes and asks for one, he can go die.”

Yuta narrows his eyes at the Thai, who only raises his hands in defeat. “Those are his exact words. Oh, and he also said that you owe him big time, Dodo.”

All this while, Taeyong’s been staring at his best friend and admiring how positively _adorable_ he looks, with his nose scrunched up in annoyance and bottom lip jutting out slightly in a pout. His wet hair is sticking to his forehead too, and Taeyong can’t help but think of how uncannily similar he looks to a puppy fresh out of a bath.

A loud sigh from his right snaps him out of his stupor, and out of his peripheral vision, he can make out the image of Dongyoung getting up from his seat beside him and walking off somewhere.  
  
“Where’re you going?” Yuta calls after him.

“To get you a pair of clothes,” Dongyoung calls back, and Yuta lights up almost immediately.

“I love you, Kim Dongyoung!” he yells out of joy, but the moment is short-lived, because he shrinks considerably when he notices the annoyed glances being sent his way, much to Ten’s amusement.

“The things I do for these kids…” Dongyoung mutters under his breath. He regains his composure once he catches sight of the person he’s looking for, busy fiddling with the blender behind the counter.

“Taeil hyung!”

*

It’s nearing nighttime and Taeyong, Dongyoung and Ten are unsurprisingly, still at the café. Yuta had left fifteen minutes prior, muttering something about having to complete his history essay if he wanted his head to remain safely on his shoulders.

Taeyong stares at him leave until he can’t anymore and he hears a snicker from his left, effectively snapping him out his trance. The source of the annoying sound comes into view, in the form of his dearest Thai friend, who slips into the seat which had previously been occupied by Yuta. (Taeyong wishes it still was).

He has this extremely aggravating expression painted on his face; one that screams ‘I know what’s going on in your head,’ and really, he must be spending quite a lot of time with Dongyoung if their expressions are starting to look similar too.

“You know,” he drawls, and for once in his life, Taeyong wishes fervently that Dongyoung was around to whisk Ten away so that he wouldn’t have to deal with this unwanted counseling session (again, something Dongyoung is more likely to give him), but unfortunately for him, his dearest know-it-all friend is currently unavailable – Taeyong can see him and Jaehyun at the counter, and even from this distance, he can make out that Jaehyun’s hell-bent on burning a hole through Dongyoung's wallet and on any other occasion, he would revel in his friend’s distressed expression, but right now, he’s sure he’s wearing a similar one as he’s forced to listen to more of whatever Ten has to say, “you should work on being less obvious,” and his tone sounds downright patronising, as if he doesn’t turn into an obedient puppy around a certain _someone._

This is an opportunity Taeyong can’t miss, and twisting his lips into a smirk, he comments nonchalantly, “I don’t think you're in _quite_  the position to say that,” and his smirk turns into a grin when Ten flushes and rushes to protest.

“I–I don’t feel that way for Dongyoung!” and he flushes even more when he realizes what he’s said. Taeyong’s cackling uncontrollably now, cognizant of the weird stares he’s on the receiving end of, but he can’t bring himself to care; he’s quite accustomed to this by now.

It takes a lot of smacking and threats from Ten to calm him down, and once he has, Ten speaks up again, a little more seriously this time, “You should tell him. It’s pretty obvious he has feelings for you too.”

“Not now, Chittaphon,” Taeyong groans, and Ten scrunches his nose up in distaste for being addressed by his real name. He’s opening his mouth to protest, but Taeyong cuts him off smoothly, “And even of that _was_  the case, we made this stupid promise that we’d never let feelings get into the way back when we were, you know, _straight_ ,” Ten looks at him apprehensively and he goes on to explain, “We saw a couple arguing when we were out playing one day. Yuta’d said he didn’t want the same thing happening to us,” and he chuckles fondly at the memory. “Besides, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. Maybe some other time.”

Ten’s quiet for a moment, before looking down at Taeyong’s plate and informing him gravely, “You’ve finished all your cake, though.”

Taeyong pushes him off his chair.

*

Yuta doesn’t come to school the next day, and Taeyong must be in way too deep, because he can almost _hear_  the sound of his heart breaking when he doesn’t find Yuta dozing off in his usual seat on stepping into the classroom.

 _‘It’s alright, he's probably just late,’_  he convinces himself in a desperate effort to avoid the truth, and he’s doing a good job of it, too, until Ten comes bounding up to him with a grin on his face and a grumpy Dongyoung trailing behing him.

“Yuta’s not coming today,” he informs loudly, plopping down on Taeyong’s desk and making himself feel at home. “Caught a cold,” he goes on, and his grin widens impossibly further, “Not uncommon, not in this weather, it isn’t. ’S getting chilly, isn’t it?” and Taeyong really wants to wipe that grin off his face.

“Now that he’s caught a cold, perhaps Taeyong’ll stop wanting to kiss him,” Dongyoung sniffs, inspecting his nails airily, “Unless, of course, he’s willing to risk falling sick for him too?”

And with that, he walks off to his desk and pulls out a book, busying himself with memorizing each line, probably.

“What’s with him?” Taeyong questions, casting a wary glance at the disgruntled brunet two rows over.

“Jaehyun emptied his wallet almost completely yesterday,” Ten snickers, “Got the telling-off of his life when he went back home last night. You know what his parents are like.”

“I do,” Taeyong says solemnly, the unpleasant memory of the one time he had dropped Dongyoung off at his house after a _study_ session, sometime well after ten at night, popping up in his mind. Mrs. Kim’s annoyed expression makes him squirm in his seat till this day. At least Taeyong knows where Dongyoung gets his features from now, because he looks strikingly similar to his mother when annoyed. Minus the hair, of course. Taeyong supposes a wig would do the job.

“How’d you find out anyway? And about Yuta, too, how’d you get to know? He called you, did he?” Taeyong asks, ignoring the unpleasant sensation bubbling inside of him at the thought of Yuta informing Ten of his health instead of Taeyong himself, who, by the way, is _supposed_ to be his _best friend._

Ten looks at him for a moment before putting on an expression which he probably thinks makes him look mysterious (it doesn’t), and dropping his voice an octave or two (Taeyong marvels over how his voice still sounds as high-pitched as ever), “I know it all, my friend.”

Their teacher walks into the class then, and Ten hops off Taeyong’s desk, shoots him a last _look_  and quickly slips into his own seat.

 _‘Weirdo,’_  Taeyong thinks, as the class gets up to greet the teacher.

“Morning class, sit down, please. Let’s get on with the attendance, shall we? Yes, let’s see… Kang Seulgi!”

*

Taeyong sits at a table for two at his favourite café, glaring moodily at his Physics textbook and hoping nothing more than for it to disappear into thin air under his scrutiny.

See now, Taeyong wouldn’t have been here had his teacher not announced that there would be a test on the chapter they were doing (Taeyong didn’t even know the name; doesn’t quite remember it now either and he can’t quite bring himself to bother), right the next day, and no number of groans and protests had shaken her in the least.

“I stand my ground, so you might save your groans,” she had said, Taeyong recalls, leading to another uproar. “Really, class, I don’t see what the problem is; I’ve been explaining each and every sentence we’ve come upon. One good look at your textbooks would be enough to do the trick!”

Now, that would have been the case if Taeyong had paid attention in any of the classes, which, by the way, he had _not._  He’d rather stare at the back of Yuta’s head than listen to their teacher drone on about lenses. (He’s got nice hair. Then again, Taeyong thinks, everything about Yuta is nice).

He’d probably be finishing up had Dongyoung been here, but the poor boy had had to go straight back home immediately when the bell rang; his parents had grounded him for his callousness yesterday (he’s got timing, Taeyong thinks sulkily). Mrs. Kim is a pleasant woman, Taeyong’s sure, but it’s no secret that she’s slightly wary of her son’s friends. Or maybe it’s just Jaehyun and Ten she has a problem with.

Speaking of Ten, it was of no use having him as a study partner, as he himself has proved on countless occasions over the years Taeyong has known him. Yuta is, comparatively speaking, better; he knows when to shut up and take things seriously (something Ten had absolutely no knowledge of), and he’s proved to be quite effective at cramming. But he obviously isn’t an option today. Taeyong would have to tell him there’s a test tomorrow. Jaehyun, although quite smart, is in the class below them, and he probably wouldn’t be able to understand the content of their textbooks (Taeyong doesn’t either), let alone teach it to someone. That doesn’t leave many, although there _is_ Kun, whom Taeyong is acquaintances with. He’s talked to him once or twice in passing; he seems quite knowledgeable, though all other times Taeyong has seen him has been when he was in action; he seems to prioritize turning glasses over without touching them over lenses and mirrors. There’s also Youngho from the basketball team (Ten had had the hots for him for a good while last year, much to Dongyoung’s annoyance), but that in itself is the problem – that he’s on the basketball team, and everyone on the basketball team is head over heels in love with the sport and honestly, Taeyong hasn’t seen any of them talk of anything but. Youngho most probably isn’t yet aware that a test was even going to be held tomorrow; he was probably practicing then.

Taeyong’s mind strays elsewhere; he’s staring at the book but not quite reading any of the words printed on it. He’s wondering how much exactly Jaehyun’s appetite could have cost Dongyoung, taking into account the fact that Taeyong had paid him half of what the final price should have been, in return for the clothes (which reminds him, he needs to give those back to Jaehyun some time soon) when someone slides into the seat in front of him.

“A penny for your thoughts,” a pleasant voice says amicably, “unless you’re thinking about whatever’s in your book, because in that case I want my penny back,”and there’s a grin replacing the previous frown on Taeyong’s face almost instantly.

“Taeil hyung!” he greets cheerily, and Taeil breaks into a grin of his own.

“The one and only.”

“Your shift’s over?” Taeyong asks, noticing that Taeil’s apron and name-tag are nowhere to be seen.

“Just got done with it, yeah,” the older replies. “You’re alone today? No Yuta?”

Taeyong goes quite red and mumbles under his breath, “He’s not the only one I come here with.”

Taeil’s grin widens, “Yeah, but he’s the only one you ever pay attention to. Never seen you looking at Dongyoungie or Tennie like that,” and he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively (he’s been hanging around Ten too often, Taeyong reckons).

Taeyong rolls his eyes at the fond nicknames before saying exasperatedly, “Not you too, hyung…”

Taeil’s eyes widen in surprise, “Well then, you must be pretty obvious if others are noticing too.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” Taeyong waves his hand dismissively. “And as much as I'd like to continue talking about my non-existent infatuation with my _best friend,_  I have a test to study for, so if you would kindly excuse me.”

Taeil had stopped wiggling his eyebrows around and was now appraising the open book on the table with interested eyes. “Subject?”

“Physics,” Taeyong mutters sullenly, flipping the pages around helplessly.

“Well, my friend, you’re in luck today, because this guy right here was a genius at his sciences,” Taeil says, thumping his chest proudly. “What’s giving you trouble?”

Taeyong sighs, relieved. At least he won’t be failing now. “Well…”

*

In hindsight, Taeyong probably shouldn’t have agreed to let Taeil tutor him, considering the fact that Taeil has the attention span of a goldfish. He has no idea when they strayed from the matter at hand, but apparently they did, seeing as they weren’t talking about anything even remotely related to Physics.

“So, you’re telling me that you’re afraid to profess your _love_  to Yuta because of a promise you made back when you were young which he probably doesn’t even remember now?”

“First of all,” Taeyong says snappily, “it’s not _love_ ,” and he frowns when Taeil waves him off dismissively. “And secondly… I guess that’s a way to sum it up, yeah,” and he sinks into his seat, feeling utterly defeated.

All is silent for a while. Taeyong would’ve liked to say that he couldn’t hear the gears turning in Taeil’s head, but unfortunately, he could, and nothing good can ever come from that.

“He didn’t go to school today?” Taeil says next and Taeyong shakes his head. “Well then, there you go!”

Taeyong looks at him quizzically, prompting him to explain.

“Really, Taeyong, it’s quite obvious,” he says, and Taeyong rolls his eyes. “You leave this place right now, go to his house, barge in, spew some nonsense about how much you missed him today, yada yada yada, he’ll be touched, you’ll kiss, then you’ll tell him how much you love him, you’ll kiss again, and next time you two step foot into this café, it’ll be as a couple. Genius, my plan, isn’t it?” he says excitedly, tapping the back of Taeyong’s pencil to his head. How did it even get there?

“Firstly,” Taeyong starts, snatching the pencil back, “I have a test to study for, which you’re supposed to be helping me with, but obviously aren’t. And secondly, it’s not that easy, hyung,” and he slumps back into his seat dejectedly.

Taeil’s eyebrows are furrowed, and before he can say anything else, Taeyong speaks again, “How about… we finish studying for the test and once we're done, I _consider_  going to Yuta’s place. Sound good?”

“Alright then,” Taeil agrees, albeit a little dejectedly. “Okay, so…”

*

“So, when are you going to Yuta’s place?” Taeil asks casually, twiddling Taeyong’s pencil in between his fingers. They’ve just finished their little study session, and despite how much Taeyong likes to bully his older friend, he has to admit that he must have been as good as he claims he was in his sciences if he has the capability to explain in an hour and a half what his teacher took weeks to. (Or maybe it was more than that, not that Taeyong would know).

Taeyong stops packing up his books to glare at his companion icily. “I didn’t say I would.”

Taeil throws his hands up in exasperation. “Come on, Taeyong, after all I’ve done for you, you wouldn’t do something as simple as this for me? For your favourite hyung?”

“Okay, for starters, what you have asked of me, my dear friend, is in no world _simple_. You’re asking me to confess to him! Second, Hansol hyung is my favourite hyung,” Taeil gasps and places a hand over his heart at that. “And third, give me that!” the younger snaps, snatching his pencil back from Taeil’s clutches.

“Besides, hyung,” Taeyong starts, a little softer this time, seeing as Taeil looked more disheartened by the matter than he did, “I couldn’t have gone even if I wanted to. I’m terribly tired and I’d rather go home. Also, the Nakmotos would be having their dinner around this time and it would be rude to interrupt their family bonding time.”

“Yeah, yeah, come up with more excuses, why don’t you,” Taeil rolls his eyes and Taeyong has to resist the urge to do the same. Why is he so adamant about the situation when Taeyong himself isn’t nearly as bothered? Perhaps he’d placed a bet with Hansol or maybe some other friend of theirs. Taeyong’s sure nearly all of them are hell-bent on turning him and Yuta into a couple by this point (a fact he isn’t overly fond of, though he wants the same).

There’s a snide remark on the tip of his tongue and he’s opening his mouth to say it, but Taeil beats him to it, “But I won’t push it anymore. I’ve done my part, I reckon you’d have the sense to do yours soon.”

Taeyong’s mouth snaps shut at that. For a moment he stares at Taeil as if he’d swallowed a rock, although the lump in his throat makes it feel more like he was the one who had.

“Well, go on then!” Taeil ushers him out of his seat. “You’re tired, aren’t you?”

“Ah,” Taeyong says dumbly, stretching slightly on standing up, his limbs feeling more dead than alive at the moment. “By the way, hyung, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Taeil mutters dismissively, and with a wave, Taeyong’s out of sight.

“Idiot,” the older mumbles under his breath, massaging his temples gently. “Complete, lovesick idiot.”

*

Taeil’s words bother Taeyong the entire walk home.

_“I’ve done my part, I reckon you’d have the sense to do yours soon.”_

Pining wasn’t going to get him anywhere, this he is aware of. The world isn’t going to stop for him either, this also he is aware of.

If he doesn’t do anything about his _maybe not-so-hopeless_  crush on Yuta now, he probably won’t even have the chance to later.

He’d have to do something, and he’d have to do it _soon._

*

Taeyong may act like he absolutely despises his elder sister with a passion, but despite that, she remains his pillar of support in his bad times – the person he always goes to when he’s in a bit of a fix. Like now, for example.

He shuffles shyly down the hall until he’s in front of his sister’s door, knuckles hovering above the wood as he contemplates whether this is the right choice or not. Before he can come to a decision, though, the door swings open to reveal his sister, who looks quite surprised, to say the least. She casts an incredulous look at her younger brother, eyes shifting from his slightly agape mouth to the hand that’s still hanging mid-air.

“Taeyong,” she starts slowly, eyes flitting back to his face. “Is there a problem?”

Taeyong stares at her for a moment – the gears are still turning in his head and he’s still weighing out the pros and cons of asking his sister about how to address the not–so–tiny crush he has on his best friend, who his sister sees as a younger brother. Taeyong wonders briefly whether she’d consider that as incest, but he catches sight of the growing irritation on his sister’s face and decides to address the thought some other time.

“Hi,” he starts lamely and Taeyeon rolls her eyes.

“What do you want?” she snaps; her patience is growing thin, Taeyong can see that, and he’d better get to the point quick, he figures.

“Can – Do you–” he licks his lips nervously and his sister’s expression shifts from annoyed to slightly surprised and finally settles on mildly concerned, “– have time to–to… talk?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says after a moment’s silence, stepping aside and motioning for him to come in, and so he does, stepping in as if the room is foreign territory (which it is _not_ ; Taeyong’s planted pranks in his sister’s room far too often to not be acquainted with it) and approaching the bed hesitantly. He sits down just as the sound of the door clicking shut resounds in his ears.

“Well?” Taeyeon says questioningly when she turns around, folding her arms across her front and suddenly Taeyong feels like a five-year-old about to be lectured for stealing one too many chocolates from the fridge. “What’s got you all worked up like this?”

Taeyong licks his lips again. He’d like to start but he doesn’t know how, or rather, _where_  to. Would it be the dreams? Or maybe how he finds everything Yuta does nowadays attractive? He doesn’t know.

“Sit – Sit down,” he says after a moment’s contemplation. Seeing her standing makes him feel uneasy for some reason; he’d rather have her seated next to him.

Taeyeon rolls her eyes but moves to sit next to Taeyong on her bed. “So?”

Taeyong clears his throat, still quite unsure of where to begin. He coughs lightly, licks his lips for the third time, and that’s when Taeyeon snaps.

“Oh come on, just spill already!” she says exasperatedly and Taeyong sighs.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbles, and with a deep breath, he starts. “Uh… when you were my age, uh… did you h–have any um… major problems in your life?”

Taeyeon looks at him skeptically before responding, “The only major problem I’ve ever had is having a name that sounds terribly similar to yours. Well, technically, it's the other way around–”

“Come on, noona, you know what I mean,” Taeyong cuts her off, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He’s been doing that far too many times lately. “I mean, problems with like…” and he mumbles the last word under his breath.

“What was that?” Taeyeon asks, ears straining, “I didn’t catch the last bit.”

Sucking in a breath, Taeyong mutters, quiet still, “I said, _love_ …”  
    
A pregnant pause follows, and Taeyong’s too nervous to look up and gauge his sister’s reaction, as much as he’d like to.

Surely he wouldn’t have expected her to burst into laughter the way she does.

“Noona!” he whines embarrassedly, smacking her with a pillow. “Come _on_!”

“Our wittle Taeyongie is having wuv problems, is he now?” Taeyeon manages between laughs, before bursting into another fit.

Taeyong grumbles, muttering something along the lines of how he _should’ve known,_  before getting up and pausing to glare at his (still hysterical) sister.

“Fine then, if that’s how you’re going to be,” and he makes his way angrily to the door, cursing up a storm under his breath because not only did he make absolutely no progress, he also managed to feed Taeyeon material worth a month’s teasing.

“Hey!” in a second, Taeyeon’s in front of him, blocking the door, and he looks at her, annoyed. “Come on, I was just messing around. I swear I won’t laugh anymore.”

Taeyong eyes her warily; she looks a lot like she’s trying her best to suppress her laughter, and he’s still contemplating whether this would be for the best or not. “Promise?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Gosh, you’re such a kid, I can’t believe you’re at the age of crushing already,” she says, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Taeyong raises an eyebrow at that. “You had your first crush at the age of six,” he points out matter-of-factly. He shudders at the memory of a six-year-old Taeyeon staring dreamily after the boy who lived next door to them at that time, and honestly, he realizes now how much his sister’s love life sounded like the plot of one of those cheesy fanfiction. Except, of course, it’s between six-year-olds instead of dramatic teenagers.

Taeyeon goes quite red at the mention of that, muttering something that sounds quite like, “He was cute, okay?”

Taeyong’s about to argue; he has lots of instances to provide which would prove that Taeyeon's crush on the innocent boy went beyond simple infatuation, the main being how Taeyeon had made it a point back then to mention determinedly everyday how she was going to ride off into the sunset with her lover boy after their wedding on the beach and what not, when Taeyeon conveniently changes the topic.

“Alright, enough of that, what’s this deal with love now?” she asks, suddenly serious. Taeyong goes silent – he’s unsure of how to answer once again.

 _‘To hell with it,’_  he thinks, and bracing himself, he says, all in one breath, “Okay, so I might have a crush on someone, and this someone happens to be my best friend since we were born and I really want to do something about and either I’m too subtle or they’re too oblivious because everyone except this person happens to know that I have a crush on them and I feel like they’re going to slip out of my hands if I don’t do anything soon and – _gosh what am I gonna do–_ ”

His rambling is cut short, however, when his sister, whose lips are now pursed (that is never a good sign), holds up a hand to silence him and really, _since when does she have so much authority over me?_

“So,” she starts and Taeyong is going over his rant a million times in his head, wondering if he was too obvious, and her next sentence tells him all he needs to know, “you have a crush on Yuta.”

Taeyong’s mind blanks, mouth falling open. _How did she…_

And then he’s panicking, face turning redder than a tomato when he realizes it’s a bit too late to protest now, and the look of triumph on Taeyeon’s face tells him there’s no point anymore. His mouth opens; he wants to say something, _anything,_  but then he doesn’t know what exactly to say, so he clamps it shut, and this goes on for a while, until he’s finally capable of forming a sentence. “Please don’t kill me.”

Taeyeon laughs at that, patting his head affectionately. “Don’t worry, I won’t. But Taeyong, I’m pretty sure your friends have told you this already, if they do know as much as you claim, and I know you realize it too, but time is ticking. You’ve got to make a move, and you’ve got to do it soon. Yuta’s a looker, Tae–”

“And what, I’m not?” Taeyong pulls a face, offended.

“You are too, but most of the time you look like you want to kill someone,” Taeyeon says thoughtfully, and Taeyong huffs at that. “Yuta’s very approachable,” Taeyong mutters something along the lines of _“I’m approachable too,”_  but thankfully, Taeyeon doesn’t seem to catch it, “he’s kind, funny, and a bunch of other things, you would know. Other people will be attracted to him for the same reasons you are.”

Taeyong shrinks at that. He’s well aware of this fact, but having it rubbed in his face like that isn’t making him feel any better about the entire ordeal. As if she’d read his mind, Taeyeon smiles and says, “And I’m sure that’s just the problem. You don’t know how to confess. Well fret not, little brother, for you have come to the right place!”

It all happens so fast that Taeyong barely catches it. One moment, Taeyeon’s sitting next to him on the bed, and in the next, she’s in front of him, pulling out a whiteboard from behind her cupboard and _that’s the one mom and dad got her when she turned nine, gosh._  She bustles about the room at the speed of light, and in a minute, she’s back in front of him, with an assortment of different-coloured whiteboard markers in one hand while she writes on the board with the other one.

When she finishes writing and turns away from the board, Taeyong catches sight of the words scrawled on it in his sister’s neat handwriting. “How to Confess to the Love of Your Life (A Guide by Lee Taeyeon),” it reads.

His attention is brought back to his annoying older sister when she claps her hands loudly. “Class will commence now,” she says authoritatively, and Taeyong _really_  doesn’t want to be here. Still, he decides he’ll sit through it, for this sister’s (and his own) sake. Who knows, maybe Taeyeon actually has some good advice.

She raps sharply on the board, asking Taeyong for his undivided attention, which he reluctantly gives. She points at the writing on the board, and with the hints of a smile showing, clears her throat, “Step one!”

Taeyong groans inwardly.

_‘This is going to be a long night.’_

*

By the time Taeyeon’s finally kicked him out of her room, Taeyong’s sure he’s more prepared for a test on ‘Confessing to Your Crush, 101,’ than the one he has tomorrow. Taeyong really appreciates his sister for imparting her knowledge of all things confessing to him, but really, if he had known that Taeyeon had had so much to say, he wouldn’t have signed up for her class. He’s starting to forget a little bit of what Taeil had taught him already. He’d have to go through the chapter once again in the morning, he supposes.

Which reminds him…

_**ty:** there’s a test in phy tomorrow_

Taeyong looks at the time. 11:49 PM. He chews on his lip; he probably should’ve told Yuta earlier. And he hadn’t even bothered to call and ask him how he was feeling, and honestly, what type of best friend is he–

– his phone buzzes.

Taeyong quickly types in his passcode (102695) and looks through his notifications – it’s from Yuta.

_**yt:**  i know, dons told me already_

Taeyong bites his lip so hard he’s sure he’s drawn a bit of blood. His phone buzzes in his hand again, and he looks at the screen hesitantly.

_**yt:** thanks though_

_'It’s too late to call now,’_  Taeyong thinks, typing out another message. His finger hovers over the send button for a good while, until he finally brings himself to press it.

_**ty:** how’re you feeling? ten told me you’d caught a cold…_

Yuta’s typing – Taeyong stares at the three dots in the bubble anxiously, chewing on his lip religiously.

_**yt:** i feel terrible. i wanna have your miso soup_

An idea pops into Taeyong’s head. It’s the craziest one he’s had in a while, but it’ll be worth it, he’s sure. Once he’s confirmed with himself that he’s actually doing this, he bustles about his room, getting things in place for his plan, and when he checks his phone, it’s nearing quarter past twelve.

He’s got a few messages from Yuta, as his notifications tell him, and he presses them hurriedly, the hints of a smile showing on his face.

 _ **yt:** taeyong??_  
_11:57_

 _ **yt:** oi, where’d you go?_  
_12:04_

 _ **yt:** fine then, ignore me. i see how it is_  
_12:07_

 _ **yt:** hmph_  
_12:09_

Taeyong doesn’t reply.

*

 _‘Yep, this is_  definitely _t_ _he craziest idea I’ve had in a while,’_ Taeyong thinks reproachfully as he squints in an effort to make out his surroundings. All he needs is a pebble. How hard is to find a _pebble_? Well, apparently, it’s quite hard, since he’s been trying to find one ever since he realized he probably should have brought one along with him. He can’t even switch on a flashlight, lest he wakes someone in the neighbourhood up at this ungodly hour.

Taeyong’s sulking – his head hurts and he knows it’s going to hurt more tomorrow morning when he has the time to regret the decisions his younger (by a few hours), more irrational self had made, when he trips over something and falls to the ground with an _"o_ _of,"_ and a muffled thud.

 _‘Curse life,’_  he thinks dejectedly, trying to hold back a groan which his throbbing ankle is rendering him incapable of doing. When he looks down at the ground to glare at whatever inanimate object is the cause of his demise, he can’t believe his eyes. _‘Ah. A pebble.’_

Taeyong doesn’t know whether this new discovery makes him more happy or sad, but he collects the pebble and with a hiss and the support of the helpful tree on his left, he manages to get to his feet.

Taeyong squints again, trying to focus on the window to Yuta’s bedroom. He takes his aim, shuffling about a little just to make sure he’s in perfect position, and is just about to launch his attack when the window opens.

“To whoever the _hell_  is out there, would you mind, I don’t know, keeping it down a little? Some people are trying to sleep, you know,” a slightly nasally voice hisses and even in the dark, Taeyong knows exactly what Yuta’s face looks like right now – nose scrunched up in annoyance, hair sticking out at odd angles and one hand rubbing the sleep out of his eyes while the other holds his glasses.

“Well, darn, guess I gotta come back tomorrow,” he says, trying not to make it evident that he’s smiling.

There’s silence for a while, and then, “ _Taeyong?_ ”

There’s sounds of shuffling, and a light switches on in the room. Yuta reappears at the window, looking down at him in disbelief. “What in the actual world are you doing here? At this hour, that too?” he whisper-shouts.

“And here I thought you’d be happy. Guess I’ll just have the miso soup myself then,” Taeyong grins up at him, taking his backpack (packed specially for this occasion) off his shoulder and dangling it in front of his face tauntingly. 

Yuta’s nonplussed; he doesn’t say or do anything for a minute before disappearing from the window altogether. Taeyong’s surprised; surely he isn’t mad? But then he hears noises from the other side of the door, and suddenly Yuta’s in front of him, and it’s only now that Taeyong allows himself to let go of his inhibitions for only a bit, as he takes in Yuta’s appearance. Unsurprisingly, he looks quite like what Taeyong had imagined him to, plus the knitted sweater which is way too big for him and hangs off one shoulder (Yuta pulls it up each time it does, but the stubborn piece of cloth seems to like Yuta’s arm more than his shoulder) and the fluffy bunny slippers. He looks so absolutely _adorable,_  and Taeyong really wants to kiss him then and there–

Yuta sticks out a hand, and Taeyong looks at it, confused, until Yuta rolls his eyes. “The soup,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the universe, and Taeyong’s sure he’d wanted to add “duh,” at the end.

“There’s an offer,” Taeyong informs, and Yuta raises an eyebrow. “Buy this and you get a Lee Taeyong free. It’s limited; only lasts until stock gives out.”

Yuta laughs, “You don’t have to worry about that; your stock won’t be ending anytime soon,” and he laughs louder when Taeyong whines a “Hey, you like my soup!” in protest. “Yeah, but I don’t like you,” Yuta tells him, and Taeyong pouts.

Yuta chuckles at his expression, and then he’s reaching out and tugging on Taeyong’s way-too-thin-for-this-weather-sweater’s sleeve. “Get in, idiot.”

*

Within fifteen minutes, Taeyong’s heated up their soup and they’re fitted together comfortably on the couch, shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh (Taeyong forgets that Yuta has a cold and decides to ignore the fact that he’s putting himself at the risk of catching one himself in favour of blushing at the contact and wishing fervently that Yuta can’t see the pink dusting his cheeks in the semi-darkness). Yuta’s parents are out of town for a business trip, and his younger sister had gone to a friend’s house for a sleepover (“Said she wanted to stay away from me and my germs. What a loving family I have,”) earlier that day, and Taeyong commends himself for choosing such a convenient time to _drop by._

“Don’t give yourself too much credit,” Yuta snorts, elbowing him slightly for gloating over his _expert guessing skills_ for about the fifth time since they’ve sat down. “I only let you in because you’d brought the soup with you. Don’t expect the same treatment the next time you pull a stunt like this,” he says, setting his now-empty bowl down on the table in front of them and then proceeding to stretch himself out like a contentedly lethargic cat.

Taeyong only smiles fondly at that, “Whatever you say.” Yuta elbows him slightly harder this time and Taeyong winces, muttering a quiet _“ow,”_  which Yuta obviously chooses to ignore. “I’m serious,” he says sternly, and Taeyong only hums dismissively.

A comfortable silence settles over them after that. Taeyong stirs the remaining bit of his soup around aimlessly, thinking about anything and everything. He’s thinking about the Physics test he has tomorrow, or rather, _today,_  and he curses himself in his head for messing up his sleep schedule for the rest of the week. It _is_  Friday, and he can very well sleep for the entire weekend when he gets home after school, but Ten and Dongyoung have been raving about the new arcade open in town for the entire week, and had promised to shut up about it only if Taeyong agreed to pay the place a visit with them and the others (Jaehyun, Yuta, and if he was free, Taeil) on Friday evening after school, so there go all his plans of catching up with his well-deserved sleep (it’s been a crazy week). Then he’s thinking about all Taeyeon had told him earlier, and he worries his lower lip as he recalls all the tips and tricks she had made the time for to tell him. She could’ve very well kicked Taeyong out of her room when she found out he’d wanted help; could have spent her time doing her own activities, but instead, she gave him a whole two-hour lesson meant to give his pathetic excuse of a love life the kick start it needed, and this is how he’s doing justice to it – by not doing anything at all. He’s about to beat himself up over it a bit more, when suddenly there’s an extra weight on his shoulder and chest and something soft tickling his neck.

Taeyong stiffens, and Yuta clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “Hey, loosen up,” he reprimands softly, “you’re supposed to be my pillow. You’re not being a very good one right now.”

“I thought you didn’t need a pillow to sleep?” Taeyong scoffs derisively – a futile attempt to mask the feeling of pure happiness and bliss blooming in his chest.

Yuta only hums, and the vibrations of the sound against Taeyong’s chest send an odd tingle down his spine. He only hopes Yuta can’t feel his heart beating a mile a minute against his ribcage, because he sure can.   
  
Taeyong doesn’t know what to say, so he sits there, trying to do as told and prove to be a comfortable pillow the best he can, and just when he thinks Yuta’s fallen asleep, a small sound breaks the silence.

“Taeyong?” Yuta murmurs sleepily, and Taeyong hums to show that he’s listening. “Thank you.”

Taeyong’s eyebrows furrow. “What for?”

“I–” and Yuta pauses to take what is presumably a shuddering breath before he goes on, “I said I wanted soup and you made and brought it over for me at this hour. You could’ve simply ignored me–” Taeyong wants to interrupt him, wants to say something clichéd like _“I could never,”_ but he doesn’t, instead deciding to listen to the rest of whatever Yuta has to say, “–and yet you chose to do this. I wasn’t even being serious, you know. But, thank you, really. I feel a lot better now.”

Taeyong is rendered speechless; he can’t bring himself to say anything except a hushed _you’re welcome,_  which is so quiet he doubts Yuta even catches it.

Yuta falls asleep not long after that, his soft brown hair still tickling Taeyong’s neck as it fans out with each of Yuta’s exhales. Taeyong stares at the top of his head for a while, admiring him silently, until he closes his eyes and tries to get some much-needed shut-eye himself. 

And when he _does_  fall asleep, it’s not only his shoulders and neck that hurt from the added weight;

Taeyong’s sure his heart hurts a bit too.

*

When Taeyong wakes up next morning, it’s to  terribly stiff shoulders, an annoying, sporadic buzzing sound ringing in his ears and a pounding headache.

He looks around and catches sight of Yuta, now curled up in a ball so tiny that he’s barely taking up half of the couch, which Taeyong is extremely thankful for, considering the fact that more than half of his past experiences in sharing a bed with Yuta have ended with him on the floor the next morning.

Yuta is, unsurprisingly, not bothered in the least by the intermittent buzzing reverberating off the walls first thing in the morning, and Taeyong wishes he was as heavy of a sleeper as his best friend.

He forces himself off the couch, and Yuta shifts a little, letting out a displeased whine, before promptly falling back asleep. _‘Cute,’_  Taeyong thinks fondly, searching around for the source of his unwanted alarm clock.

The sound is the loudest when Taeyong nears his backpack, and he clucks his tongue in annoyance, squatting down in front of the abandoned bag on the floor. He pulls out his phone, switching the alarm off and putting an end to the sound once and for all, and that’s when he catches sight of the time.

Taeyong’s heart stops beating for a second, and it’s not for the same reasons as last night.

 _7:17 am,_  he reads off the top-right corner of his phone. School starts at eight. _‘Not again…’_

Taeyong catches sight of the million alarm clock notifications he has and glances at them in disbelief.

_Missed Alarm: 6:30 am_

_Missed Alarm: 6:45 am_

_Missed Alarm: 7:00 am_

_Missed Alarm: 7:15 am_

_‘Shit–’_ and with that, Taeyong springs to his feet, runs over to the couch and starts shaking the lump (also known as Nakamoto Yuta) so violently that there’s a chance of Yuta’s head coming off his shoulders. Thankfully, it doesn’t, and instead Taeyong gets the response he’s looking for, albeit slightly too slow for his liking.

“’S the matter?” a barely-awake Yuta slurs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms and reaching for his glasses on the coffee table.

“Yuta,” Taeyong starts, distressed, “Yuta, we’re _late._ It’s more than a quarter past seven.”

Yuta’s hand, reaching for the glasses, hangs in mid-air momentarily and after that, everything happens so fast Taeyong feels as if the world’s been put on fast-forward.

Yuta mutters an anxious _‘crap,’_  under his breath, shoves his glasses onto his face, and jumps off the couch with such expertise that Taeyong thinks _he_  could try out for a javelin thrower in the Olympics, which, for some reason, compels Taeyong to make a list in his head of which sport each of his friends would excel in.

_‘Ten would probably go for gymnastics, Dongyoung could do archery, Jaehyun would suit track and field… Who else? Ah, Taeil hyung–’_

_“Lee Taeyong, are you listening to me?!”_

Taeyong looks up to a fuming Yuta glaring down at him, one hand propped on his hip while the other holds his school uniform.

_‘When did he get those?’_

His eyes travel back to Yuta’s  own, and he shakes his head tentatively, feeling slightly scared of the boy.

“I asked if you’d brought your school uniform with you last night,” Yuta says, and although he doesn’t say anything else, Taeyong understands the underlying implication of, _if you haven’t, you could consider yourself as good as dead._

Another hesitant shake of the head sends Yuta into a rage –  he’s close to screaming his head off, Taeyong can tell, but he refrains from doing so, instead sighing and muttering something about how Taeyong was _driving him crazy_  before disappearing up the stairs. Taeyong stares after him, still trying to figure out what quite happened, when he reappears at the bottom of the stairs and really, _‘maybe Hogwarts would suit him better than the Olympics.’_

And when Yuta stops right in front of him, his vision darkens, and as much as Taeyong would like to say that it’s because of Yuta’s beauty, it’s really because Yuta had deposited his spare uniform on his head quite unceremoniously.

Yuta doesn’t say anything and when Taeyong pulls the clothes off his head, he’s met with the image of Yuta’s retreating figure. “Use the bathroom down the hall,” is the last thing he hears him say before the sound of a door slamming shut resonates in his ears.

He sits there for a minute, not really doing anything, when he remembers their current predicament and that he doesn’t quite have the luxury of wasting his time, and that finally gets him to his feet.

*

“Please tell me your uniform is the only thing you’ve forgotten and that you have your books,” Yuta says plaintively, voice coming out slightly muffled as he rummages hurriedly about the kitchen with his back to Taeyong. He’d insisted on grabbing a quick breakfast despite their running late, and Taeyong had given up trying to coerce him out of the idea after the fifth attempt.

He’s about to answer, glad that he has finally something to say that would appease Yuta rather than aggravate him – it’s the first such thing in the morning, but before he can even get a word out, there’s a piece of buttered toast stuffed into his mouth, rendering him quite incapable of speech. And just when he’s plucked the piece of toast out of his mouth, he was being pulled along insistently towards the front door. Taeyong barely managed to grab his backpack on the way out.

Once they’re out on the road, Yuta checks the time on his watch and sighs. Taeyong can’t make out whether it’s one of relief or exasperation, and he’s far too scared to ask, so he’s glad when Yuta says, more pleasant than he’s been all morning, “Right on time, then.” 

Taeyong doesn’t reply, focusing instead on how they fall into step with each other while taking small bites of his toast. Yuta doesn’t say anything either, but Taeyong does hear him humming a tune softly, and it makes him smile.

But Taeyong is not Taeyong if he doesn’t manage to replace the smile on Yuta’s face with a frown – after all, that is his purpose as his _best friend,_  (he reminds himself of the brutal truth; even after travelling to the ends of the world in the middle of the night, he didn’t manage to update his status of _best_ friend to _boy_ friend), so he does exactly that.

“Thank _God_  your nasally voice has died down a bit,” he snickers, and Yuta stops humming almost immediately. “I suppose not all of it could go, considering that’s what your voice actually sounds like.”

Yuta pushes him off the sidewalk.

*

Throughout the course of the rest of the day, Taeyong feels a little funny. At first, he thinks it’s probably because the test was the first one in a while in which he knew something other than his name and the date, but later dismisses the theory when he realizes that there’s something physically wrong with him.

It starts during second hour, and by the time lunch comes around, Taeyong’s sniffling every once in a while. His nose feels oddly tingly, and he feels a slight headache starting up.

Ten and Dongyoung question him about it, but he dismisses them with a wave of the hand, saying he’s fine repeatedly until they stop pressing for an answer. Since he had practically skipped into class in the morning and was usually happy with the feeling of Yuta being back and next to him (mind you, he was gone for a _day_ ), he leaves it up to them to piece together whatever evidence they have and come up with some theory that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Yuta keeps looking over at him – he’s much more concerned about it than the other two, surely, since it was most likely they asked out of obligation anyway, and he also knows more than they do. He knows exactly when Taeyong’s going to fall sick (better than Taeyong himself), claiming there are a lot of telltale signs that lead up to him ultimately falling ill.

“Do you have a headache?” Yuta asks him quietly, watching him pick at his food uninterestedly. Taeyong can barely hear him over Ten and Dongyoung arguing over what would be the best time to visit the arcade later today.

“Six is peak hour, Ten, it’s an unspoken rule that you don’t go anywhere at six,” Dongyoung counters exasperatedly.

“What, do you want to go over at eight, then?” Ten challenges, scoffing towards the end. “Stay over for a bit of dinner, maybe?”   
  
Taeyong rolls his eyes, deciding to tune out the rest of their argument, which only adds to whatever’s causing his headache (“Lack of sleep, love issues, the homework Jung-ssaem wants by Monday, the guilt of eating Taeyeon’s chocolate pudding from the fridge,” a monotonous voice lists in his head, the face of which he imagines would look a lot like the one he has on whenever they go over to their grandma’s and play bingo for two hours straight), and turns to focus on Yuta instead.

“Because of them I do, yeah,” and he nods towards their dearest friends who are still in a heated argument, although now the topic has changed to which classic arcade game takes the cake.

“Pacman wins this one, dude, hands down,” Dongyoung says, throwing up his hands ( _what a hypocrite_ ).

Ten squints at him, “Have you _played_  Donkey Kong?”

Yuta laughs softly, and Taeyong marvels over how pretty the sound is, which leads him to wonder whether it’s possible for something to _sound_ pretty, and–

“But seriously,” Yuta says, now serious, “do you have one?”

Taeyong contemplates for a while whether a small headache was worth getting Yuta all worked up, but then he figures that if he _does_  fall sick, Yuta would find out either way.

“Yes,” he says in the end, and before Yuta can find any conclusions to jump on, he adds, “But it’s just a mild one, and it doesn’t necessarily have to mean I’m catching a cold.”

“You’re sniffling,” Yuta says pointedly.

“So are you,” Taeyong retorts.

“I’m recovering from a cold!”

“Well, then, so am I.”

Yuta looks at him disbelievingly, and there’s a slight bit of amusement mingled with it too. “You’re insufferable, Lee Taeyong,” and the beginnings of a smile show on his face.

Taeyong only grins stupidly, headache momentarily forgotten, with the only thing aching in his body being his jaw from how much he was smiling. 

But, as the day progresses, Taeyong realizes that it is not _just a headache,_  when he starts sneezing uncontrollably during fifth hour and has to be sent out because the class was laughing too much. And when the teacher sends him back with an apology at the end of the hour, he starts feeling inexplicably cold, and has to borrow a cardigan from Dongyoung (which he had in his bag for some reason) for wear for the rest of the day.

He barely manages to make it through the last hour of the day, and when all of them have huddled together near the lockers, Dongyoung and Ten telling everyone what time they should be at the arcade, he comments on the matter for the first time that day.

“Guys,” he starts, and everyone turns to him, “I don’t think I’ll be coming.”

As expected, it leads to an uproar, and before Dongyoung and Ten can whip out their list of _Why Lee Taeyong is the Worst Friend Ever,_ he rushes to explain, “Listen, as you can probably tell, I’m not feeling too well. I’ll come with you some other time, I promise. Besides, you’ve got Jaehyun, Taeil hyung and Yuta, anyway–”

“Actually,” Yuta pipes up from next to him, and the attention shifts to him, “you’ve not got Yuta either. I’m the reason you’ve caught your cold; might as well get rid of it too. Bye, guys, love ya!”

And with that, Yuta’s arm latches on to Taeyong’s wrist and before he knows it, they’ve broken into a run, with Dongyoung and Ten screaming, “Traitors, the lot of you!” after them and Yuta cackling manically in response.

“Well,” Dongyoung starts disbelievingly once the two are out of sight. “Since they had the audacity to actually _cancel_  on us, they might as well sort things out between them, once and for all.”

“I know, right?” Ten snickers, looking in the direction the two had left. “Anyway, let’s go get Jaehyun?”

Donyoung nods, starting in the direction of Jaehyun’s classroom. “I just hope he doesn’t cancel on us too.”

“There’s no telling whether Taeil hyung’s coming either,” Ten says gloomily.

“Doesn’t that leave only the two of us, then?” Dongyoung wonders aloud, trying to sound as nonchalant as he can.

Ten’s cheeks heat up slightly, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“So… is it a date, then?”

“Shut _up._ ”

…

“But sure, why not?”

*

Taeyong is hyper aware of how close Yuta is to him the minute they step out of the school gates. His hand is still latched onto Taeyong’s wrist, and he isn’t sure whether he’d like it to stay that way or not. But then again, even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have the heart (or the guts) to shake it off, so in the end, it stays there, until, when they’re halfway down the road from the school, Yuta is suddenly cognizant of the fact that he hasn’t let go, and his hand falls to his side almost immediately, cheeks reddening.

Taeyong clears his throat, wringing his left hand nervously. Only his left; he wants to preserve the lingering touch on his right. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. Back at school, I mean – you should’ve gone.”

“Nonsense,” Yuta replies, and when Taeyong looks at him out of his peripherals, there’s a small grin on his face, “Like I said earlier, if you’d caught a cold because of me, it’s only right that you get rid of that way too. Besides, there isn’t much I could do without you there. I mean, I’m not nearly as crazy about gaming as the rest, and without you, it would’ve been boring. And the other day I overheard Jaehyun saying he’d have somewhere to be today, and since the chances of Taeil hyung being there were pretty slim anyway, that would’ve left me with Ten and Dongyoung. And third wheeling on a couple is never fun. And–” and he stops, as if reconsidering, “–well, yeah.”

Taeyong raises an eyebrow at that; he wants to ask what lies after that ‘and,’ but he doesn’t press. And when Yuta turns to look at him, a grin, a _real_  grin, playing on his lips, he looks so breathtakingly beautiful it quite literally knocks the wind out of Taeyong and his mind blanks.

“And,” Yuta says, as if he’d read his mind, cheeks flushed, “I’d rather be with you.”

How Taeyong manages to get home without his respiratory functions shutting down will always remain a mystery to him.

*

In hindsight, Taeyong probably should’ve thought this through.

Keyword: Should’ve.

Bringing people over to his house has always proved to be risky, simply because of two things – number one: his parents, and number two: Lee Taeyeon.

Taeyong’s parents are pleasant people, and that is exactly where the problem lies. They were perhaps too pleasant for Taeyong’s liking – so pleasant, that they end up being those extremely embarrassing parents you see in the movies. His friends, however, always seem to get a kick out of the scandalized looks on Taeyong’s face whenever they come over and his parents decide to enlighten them on stories of Taeyong’s past habit of wetting his bed every week back when he was five over a cup of tea.

Now, Taeyong’s parents haven’t proved to be much of a problem over the years, since they aren’t home most of the time. The problem lies, as all problems do, with number two, also known as Lee Taeyeon.

Taeyeon has a penchant for embarrassing Taeyong in the most creative ways possible when his friends come over, and unfortunately, she seems to be home to do their parents’ job of making Taeyong want to disown them as his family almost all the time. Today isn’t an exception and Taeyong finds himself wanting to turn around and leave the minute he and Yuta step into the house and Taeyeon catches sight of them.

She spots Taeyong first and then her eyes flit to Yuta, and Taeyong is unfortunate enough to catch the odd twinkle that flashes in her eyes – a twinkle that can never mean anything good.

“Ah, Yongie!” she says, bounding over happily to where they stand at the front door. Taeyong winces at the nickname – something she has never called him before, and something he never wants to hear again. “Yuta! Great to see you again, my little muffin.”

Yuta flushes at the name, and a bit more when Taeyeon affectionately ruffles his already messy hair into an even messier state. She steps back and looks the two of them up and down, and then the mischievous glint is back in her eyes.

“Mom’s gone to the mall,” she says, meant mainly for Taeyong, but she’s looking at Yuta while she says it. “She wants me to join her,” and her mouth stretches into a malevolent grin. “That’ll leave you two alone, won’t it? The only two souls in the house.”

An unsettling silence follows, and in his head, Taeyong is repeatedly smacking his older sister with a pillow.

“Well then!” Taeyeon exclaims suddenly, and Taeyong catches Yuta jump slightly next to him. “I’ll be going now. Taeyong, help me with my coat?”

“Why would I–” and Taeyong stops abruptly on catching the look in his sister’s eyes (she seems to communicate with those more effectively than with with words) and he sighs. _“Fine...”_

Yuta looks at him, slightly confused and a little hesitant, and Taeyong bites the inside of his cheek at how adorably lost he looks. “Go sit in the living room, yeah?” he says, gesturing towards the direction of the room. Yuta seems relieved at that, and with a nod, he’s gone.

Taeyeon looks at her younger brother with a slight grin on her face as she puts her coat on and Taeyong smacks her shoulder.

“Don’t _ever_  do that again. Is it impossible for you to go one day without messing up my life?” he hisses heatedly, and Taeyeon only chuckles in response.

“Thank me later,” she says airily, pulling open the front door and slipping through it before Taeyong can attack her any more. “Don’t mess up,” she says pointedly, and with that, the door shuts, leaving Taeyong alone and slightly confused in the little hallway.

He trudges into the living room after a moment’s introspection and finds Yuta sprawled out on one of the couches, face buried into the fluffy pillows, and some muffled sounds coming from his general direction.

The sight catches him off guard, and he barely gets to open his mouth to ask what the matter is when Yuta raises his head from the pillow and regards Taeyong with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “Your dad isn’t home, is he? I wouldn’t want him to see his favourite person in the world like this.” 

Taeyong chuckles, “Don’t flatter yourself, mom’s his favourite person. But no, he isn’t, you can continue your pity party or whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Good,” and with that, Yuta buries his face into the pillows again and the groaning resumes.

Taeyong rolls his eyes and walks over to the couch Yuta has claimed before plopping unceremoniously onto his friend’s legs without a care in the world.

Yuta’s groaning turns louder and he lifts his head again, throwing Taeyong a malicious glare over his shoulder. “Get _off,_  you’re heavy.”

Taeyong only hums dismissively, trying to find a comfortable position and ignoring Yuta’s complaints and protests. Soon enough, Yuta gives up entirely, and with a grumble, his head drops back into the pillows.

Slightly concerned (but more weirded out), Taeyong decides to do what he does best – annoy Yuta.

“May I get an invitation?” he asks, grinning cheekily, and Yuta’s muffled _“what?”_  doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “To your pity party, of course. It’s a bit atrocious, not giving one to your best friend, isn’t it?”

Yuta tries to kick him off, but the uncomfortable position he’s in because of Taeyong renders him incapable of doing so, and he settles with shooting him an unimpressed glare. “Not if you’re the best friend, no,” he says dryly and Taeyong, quite dramatically, places a hand atop his damaged heart, offended.

“Of course I’m the best friend, what do you mean by that?!” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world (which it kind of is), and Yuta doesn’t reply, back to seeking solace from the couch instead.

Taeyong sighs. As expected, his attempts to find the source of Yuta’s (not very) abnormal behaviour in a roundabout way go in vain. He has a faint idea of what the cause of the younger’s demise could be, but you can never bee too sure. And with that thought in mind, he lifts himself off of Yuta’s feet and squats right in front of the couch, where Yuta’s (beautiful) face is hidden by the pillows. He pokes the side of Yuta’s head repeatedly, until Yuta turns to him in defeat, annoyance evident on his (beautiful) face. “What.”

It doesn’t even sound like a question, but before Taeyong can even answer this question-which-does-not-sound-like-a-question, he’s cut off by another groan. “I can’t feel my legs,” Yuta whimphers, trying to reach down and massage his calves.

“Stop quoting Professor X,” Taeyong says, and Yuta looks at him with open dislike.

“Shut up or you’ll be the one in a wheelchair.”

Taeyong raises a hand in defeat, zipping his lips closed with the other one and Yuta rolls his eyes.

A moment passes by in silence, with Yuta trying (and failing) to bring the feeling back in his legs and Taeyong staring at him as he racks his brain for things to say that wouldn’t make Yuta want to punch him in the face.

“Do you want to tell me what the problem is?” he asks tentatively at long last. Yuta looks at him, and unless his eyes are playing tricks on him, there’s a slight hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“I don’t know, do I?” the younger grins, and Taeyong resists the urge to whack him upside the head. His crush on Yuta doesn’t change the fact that he’s an annoying little brat.

“Fine then, if you’re going to be like that,” Taeyong says, feigning exasperation. “I was only trying to help, which, by the way, you’re supposed to be doing. Aren’t you here to take care of me in the first place?”

Yuta looks at him, annoyance nowhere to be found now. “There isn’t much I can do when it comes to things like these – it’s more your forte than it is mine. But –” and he grins coyly, “– there is one thing I can take care of.”

And before Taeyong can even recall what two and two gives, Yuta leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his lips.

And when he draws back, it’s with the prettiest blush adorning his face. Taeyong stares at him with wide eyes for longer than he probably should have, because Yuta averts his gaze and Taeyong notices how the blush on his face intensifies, but he can’t bring himself to look away because _goddamn,_  his best friend who’s been his best friend _forever_ , and his longtime crush who he’d been in _like_ with _forever_ actually _kissed_ him – and this is, quite literally, something that’s only ever happened in his dreams and he can’t believe how lucky he is.

With that thought in mind, he lets out a small, disbelieving laugh and without a warning, he brings a hand to Yuta’s nape and draws him in close, pressing a soft kiss to his lips – and then a few more, only stopping when Yuta hits his chest weakly. He draws his face back slightly, but not his hand, and with that, he pulls Yuta to rest their foreheads together and honestly, this could have been straight out of a drama – minus the awkwardness, of course.

If Yuta was red before, he resembles a tomato now, and Taeyong can’t help but let out another laugh. In minutes, both him and Yuta are a giggling mess, and as Taeyong nudges Yuta’s nose with his own and Yuta scrunches his nose up in distaste, he swears this is the happiest he’s ever been in his entire life.

 _‘I’m an idiot,’_  he thinks, watching as Yuta drops his pretense and breaks into the most beautiful grin ever, compelling him to return the gesture with one of his own. 

_‘A complete, lovesick idiot.’_

*

On Monday morning, first hour, Physics, Taeyong’s knees bounce up and down rapidly as their teacher walks around the class, returning the tests from Friday. She makes for a dominating figure as she moves with slow, calculated steps from one student to another, with her lips sometimes pressed into a thin line, and other times, stretched in a smile, and Taeyong wishes fervently that he’ll be on the receiving end of the latter.

_‘I can’t have messed up too badly, could I have? Let’s see–’_

But, as it turns out, he doesn’t have time to _see,_  because just when he tries to recall where he might have screwed up, he hears his teacher’s voice ring out in the dead silent (apart from the little murmurs of distress and silent cheers of joy from the students who have received their papers) classroom, and he isn’t surprised when he heard what she has to say.

“Dongyoung, great performance as always,” she says, placing his answer sheet on his table with comparatively less force than she had with the others, and Dongyoung beams proudly at the praise. Taeyong rolls his eyes at that. _‘Nerd.’_

His scowl is soon replaced with a malicious grin, when Kim-ssaem reaches Ten’s table. One look at her face and you could tell that the poor boy was done for. With a flourish, she pins the paper onto his desk, and in the process, Taeyong catches sight of a big, red _C_  at the top right-hand corner of his answer sheet.

“Perhaps, Chittaphon,” she starts airily as she moves on to the desk in front, “you’d score more if you focus on what I’m saying in class rather than at the back of Dongyoung’s head.”

The class falls eerily silent, and then, not even a moment later, everyone bursts into peals of laughter. Taeyong catches sight of his dear friends and laughs harder at the sight – the _couple_  is so red in the face that you’d think they’d just run a marathon. Taeyong remembers Friday, when Ten had called him, all breathless, saying something about how he had taken Dongyoung to the arcade (leaving Jaehyun behind, who had actually been free, poor thing), and then very shyly asked him if he’d _perhaps_  like to date, and Dongyoung had said that _perhaps_ he would. Taeyong had been ecstatic – it was clear that the two liked each other for the longest time, and it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Speaking of couples…

Taeyong stares at the back of Yuta’s head and he can’t help but smile.

_Yuta._

His _boyfriend._

Friday had been a very eventful day, indeed.

The noise in the class dies down a bit – it’s thanks to their teacher – and Taeyong swears that he sees a hint of a smirk on her face as she continues disturbing the papers.

It isn’t long before she approaches his row, and as her footsteps get closer, Taeyong keeps his gaze fixed on his hands.

_‘Please, to the Gods above, let this go well, for Yuta’ s sake. I’ve been good my entire life, you can ask Santa. Well, except for the time I hit Ten with a shoe because he was being annoying, but trust me, if you knew him, you would have too. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why I didn’t get too many gifts that Christmas–’_

Amidst internal strife, Taeyong doesn’t notice his teacher inching closer until there’s a daunting figure blocking out all the morning light filtering in from the window, and before Taeyong can gather the courage to look up, there’s a paper being thrust in front of his face.

It takes a while for the paper to come into focus, and it takes an even longer while to process the big, red _A_  circled with an equally red circle at the corner of the paper.

“Well, Taeyong,” he hears his teacher’s voice say, and it, for some reason, sounds distant as the slowly grips the paper and tries to deduce whether what he’s seeing is real or not. Perhaps the grading system had changed? No, Dongyoung would’ve been talking about it all morning if it had, and he hadn’t heard it from anyone else either. It couldn’t possibly be– “this is a pleasant surprise. Really, this was such a refreshing change. I have high hopes in the future.”

And with that, she moves on, leaving Taeyong to stare at his paper as if it was something he’d never seen before. Well, technically, it was – it had been a long time since he’d scored this well in Physics – and just when the feeling was sinking in, he's broken out of his reverie when a loud _smack_  resounds in the room.  
An equally loud groan follows right after, and the voice sounds a little too familiar.

“ _Really,_  Yuta, will you _ever_  learn?” their teacher’s exasperated voice speaks over the soft giggles from the rest of the class. Taeyong looks up to see Yuta massaging the back of his head softly and a rolled up sheet of paper in his teacher’s hand, and when he puts two and two together, he can’t help but stifle a chuckle of his own. “I expect better next time,” and with that, she drops the rolled up paper on Yuta’s desk and proceeds to the one in front of his.

It isn’t long until Yuta turns around with his lips jutted out in a pout, and as Taeyong coos at him and rubs the back of his head (only to indulge in him, because seriously, just how much could a paper have hurt?), a thought crosses his mind.

 _‘You have high hopes in the future, you say?’_  Taeyong laughs at Yuta’s contended expression, pinching his cheeks slightly, and laughing even louder when Yuta scowls suddenly. He’s got the cutest boyfriend ever.

_‘I do too.'_

**Author's Note:**

> i might or might not dislike this with a passion


End file.
